


U Hrair Supplemental Works

by digitalcatnip



Series: The Hrair [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Furry, Mention of Trauma/Violence, Non-Explicit Sex, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24552106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalcatnip/pseuds/digitalcatnip
Summary: Extra vignettes and fic written in the Hrairverse either for fun or for writing channel prompts!  I will be tagging the whole collection but individual tags for each "chapter" will be added in the pre-work notes as well.
Series: The Hrair [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774540





	U Hrair Supplemental Works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosette, now legal and looking to find her own path in life, takes a summer job in Ash Hill at a friend's nightclub/hookah bar as an exotic dancer and meets the locals. Somewhat of a start to a sequel, should I ever decide to go forward with that, so ends on a bit of a cliffhanger. F/F relationship. 10,469 words.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Drug use, non-explicit sex, mention of past trauma/violence, mention of past child abuse.

The sun slipped behind the buildings of downtown as the lights on the front of the bus switched to “OFF DUTY” as it hissed to a stop at the station.

The jolt of the air brakes clonked Rosette’s head against the window, jolting her awake.

“Last stop,” the driver said, leaning around the barricade.

The few riders still on the bus stood, checking their belongings and texting their loved ones.

It took Rosette a moment to realize that she, too, needed to get up and get off of the bus. She stretched high, snatched up her backpack, and hopped off of the bus.

The station smelled of old gasoline and exhaust fumes, but each step of the dirty concrete steps sent electricity through Rosette’s limbs, vibrating up into her fingertips.

The air was cool as she stepped up onto the street and into the cacophony of light and sound that was downtown Ash Hill. It was the weekend, and the city was  _ alive. _

Rosette walked with the confidence of a rabbit who had lived these streets all her life, backpack slung over one shoulder, her free hand writing a quick text to her doe, letting her know of her safe arrival. The other animals gave her a decent berth as they passed her by, the subtle nods from other rabbits and even a few cats made Rosette’s body tingle with importance.

The bright red rose was freshly healed, the colours vivid, the lines crisp. It marked her as one thing, and one thing only: Hrair.

A brand new neon sign painted the black rabbit’s fur pink as she stepped beneath it to knock on the still subtly marked door of Maléficent’s bar.

The door was opened by the matron herself, throwing her arms out wide to envelop Rosette into her ample dewlap.

“Rosie! You made it!” She released Rosette, holding her at arm’s length. “Look at you, you’re filling out spectacularly. You look like one of my kind now, except for all that gold in your coat.”

Rosette took it as a compliment. Maléficent was middle-aged at best when Rosette had first met her as a kit, but she was still stunningly gorgeous. It seemed that all silvered rabbits were.

This included Rosette herself, of course.

“You’re only here for the summer and you’ve got a lot to learn,” Maléficent chirped as she led Rosette through to the back room of the bar. “Being the daughter of two Rahs isn’t gonna get you paid in this line of work, you know.”

“It might,” Rosette quipped. “Usually people pay me to  _ not  _ do anythin’ to ‘em.”

“Spooky might tell you that fighting and dancing are all the same thing, but I can assure you it’s not. No buck is into getting punched at the end of his lap dance.”

“You say that, but I’ve been to a couple of my mom’s clubs-“

Maléficent rounded on her, straightening to her full height, suddenly a lot more intimidating than she had been moments before. “Alright, Princess. You know everything and both your mamas rest their feet on the world, I got it. But one, this isn’t your stomping grounds, and Spooky’s power means jack shit to the rabbits in this city. Two, that tattoo is fresh and you’re barely legal. I’m your friend but I’m also your boss for the next three months, and if you try to roll with me you will see your ass from an angle you didn’t think possible. Got it?”

Rosette set her jaw. “Tamina wouldn’t dare touch me.”

“I wouldn’t push your luck,” Maléficent hissed. “Enna does enough meth these days I wouldn’t put it past her to completely forget who she’d be dealing with if she snuffed you in an alley for peacocking around her streets.”

“I’ll try to keep the peacocking to a minimum,” Rosette grumbled.

“Good. Now get in there and get changed. There’s a gray doe named Fuchsia that’s gonna be training you on floor stuff, so just yell for her when you’re ready.”

“Fuchsia, got it,” Rosette nodded, elbowing open the door to the cast dressing room, locking it behind her.

It looked like something out of the movies: a long counter against one wall covered in mirrors ringed in bright lights. Each station apparently belonged to an individual rabbit, piles of powder, perfumes, combs, and costumes strewn across the countertops and draped over the chairs. Some of it bled into the lounge area behind the makeup counter, pink feather boas and more than one set of nearly nonexistent panties tossed onto the loveseat cushions.

There were names on each mirror, seemingly written in lipstick but upon closer investigation it was revealed to be some kind of paint pen. Guin, Aly, Valerie, Fuchsia, and at the end, in fresh paint, at an untouched station: Rosette.

Her uniform was folded neatly on the counter, and Rosette smiled a little at the sight of it. Barely any clothes to speak of, but this wasn’t exactly the type of establishment that prided itself on the prudishness of its girls.

Rosette took a minute to admire herself in the mirror once she’d figured out how to get the thing on, little more than straps as it were. It hugged her in all the right places, accentuating the curve of her hips, pushing her dewlap just right. She dug around in her bag and fished out her personal touch: a black leather studded collar with a little heart charm.

She zipped up her backpack and turned to leave, smacking right into a rabbit that had materialized behind her seemingly from thin air. 

Her breath caught in her throat, just for a second. This doe was her height, her face as full and round as her hips, her middle, the dewlap under her chin. Her coat was a beautiful slate blue-gray, the silvering in her coat heavy enough to make her look frosted. Her eyes were gray, nearly black in the low light. She was wearing a similarly strappy costume to what Rosette was wearing, but hers had little metal discs in strategic places, which jingled as she moved. How she’d managed to sneak up on her, Rosette would never know.

She seemed just a surprised as Rosette was, her eyes wide, flitting all around the room as though she were too shy to look directly at Rosette.

They found their voice at the same time, talking over each other.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t-“

“You scared the fuckin’ the shit outta me-“

The gray doe closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Fuchsia,” she said, holding out a hand.

“Rosette,” she said, taking the hand. The other doe’s soft fur against hers sent tingles down her arm. “I think you’re supposed to be training me.”

“Yeah,” Fuchsia said, not meeting her eye. “Looks like you’re all dressed and ready to go. Come on, I’ll show you how the POS works and how to run the tables.”

Rosette couldn’t take her eyes off of the way Fuchsia’s hips moved as she turned and walked out of the door.

Rosette didn’t remember much of that first night. It was almost entirely a blur of black lights and hookah smoke punctuated by the smell of alcohol and the sound of dance music. She was so busy trying to make sure she didn’t fuck up anyone’s smoke or spill drinks in their laps that she didn’t even get to see the show, she just knew when it started because the music changed and the stage lit up, but that was when someone called for the rose-eared doe and she had to turn and head back into the kitchen.

The bed in the little house Tilly had rented for the summer had never felt so comfortable.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It was a week before she saw a dance for the first time. Somehow she’d managed to get the clients set up with drinks and smoke by the time the stage lights turned on, the music changing to something loud and high-octane, so she decided to slide into an empty booth and enjoy the show.

She didn’t know it’d be Fuchsia. The gray doe was wearing a top the colour of spring flowers, her legs wrapped up in ribbons that she’d eventually untie and spin around herself, the rings around her waist jingling to the beat.

The entire routine was tailored to a buck’s taste but Rosette was transfixed nonetheless.  “She’s good, huh?” Maléficent said, dropping an arm on Rosette’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Rosette said, airily. Then, she realized she’d been caught slacking. “I mean, I just- I’ll go take the tablet around and get drink orders.”

Maléficent patted her on the head. “Yeah, you do that.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“So when are y’all gonna teach me how to shake my ass like that?” Rosette asked, pulling her top off over her head and tossing it into the washing machine in the back of the cast room.

Guin leaned back in her chair, the pigment only half brushed out of her thick black fur. “When we’re not having to work all night and have errands to run on the days off!”

“Speak for yourself, I got someone to do that shit for me,” Valerie chirped from the lounge chair. Her chocolate and silver coat perfectly complemented by the purple velvet robe draped over her shoulders.

Guin rolled her eyes. “We can’t all live in Capitol Hill on daddy’s money. Some of us gotta actually go shopping and pay our bills on Mondays.”

“That’s not my problem,” Valerie huffed.

Another black and silver doe spun in her chair. “Then why don’t you train her if you have all this time to do so, Val.”

“Uh, no. Just because I have someone to do my taxes doesn’t mean I’m not busy. I have a gloss appointment that day.”

“It was a joke, guys,” Rosette groaned. “I barely know how to close the register.”

“I’ll train her,” Fuchsia said, walking around the corner of the dressing partition. “I’m free on Mondays.”

Rosette’s spine tingled. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” Fuchsia smiled. “Wanna meet here at ten?”

“Of course,” Aly grumbled, spinning back around in her chair. “You would.”

Rosette didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, so she just nodded and gave Fuchsia a dumb grin. “See ya here.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


The club felt weird during the day, bright white overhead lights casting shadows Rosette never thought she’d see. The place looked completely different, and Rosette found herself not quite knowing what she was looking at more than once. Who knew the bartop was unevenly painted? It was impossible to see in the purple and blue black lights.

“So, show me what you’ve got,” Fuchsia called from the sound booth intercom. “You can leave your clothes on, nobody here to impress but me.”

_ No pressure _ , Rosette thought, taking the stage steps two at a time. It wasn’t a particularly huge stage, but enough room to do a decent enough pole or floor routine, and the girls in the cast were good at making the most of the space.

Fuchsia queued up a song over the loudspeaker and Rosette tried to get into the headspace of being sexy for a crowd. She’d watched plenty of shows online and at Tilly’s nightclubs, she knew the general gist of what she needed to do. Gyrate her hips, shake her ass, roll her dewlap, and finish up with a little tail waggle. Bonus points if you get down on all fours and hump the floor a little bit. Her jacket was getting in the way so she did her best to incorporate shrugging the fabric off of her shoulders in the routine, dropping to her knees to the edge of the stage and letting it fall off her arms into a front-row seat. Cue some just-legal buck knocking his head on the back of his seat.

She was panting by the time the song was over, and Fuchsia was wolf-whistling from the booth and clapping.

“Not bad,” she said, joining Rosette on the stage. “A little stiff but you have the basic idea down. You could get a job in a shitty underground club for sure.”

“Thanks, I think,” Rosette said, accepting the backhanded compliment. “I’ve never actually done a routine though, I just kinda pulled all that outta my ass.”

Fuchsia held out a hand. “I can tell. But for real, it’s not bad, especially for someone who’s not had any training. You have a pretty good feel for where your body is in space and you compensate well for not having any toes on that one foot.”

Rosette took it, even though she didn’t really need the help hauling herself to her feet, her abs doing most of the work. “You gotta, in my house. One of my moms puts a lot of emphasis on self defense, so I had to learn how to fight pretty much the second I moved in.”

“Yeah,” Fuchsia mused. “You’re built like a boxer, not a dancer. More emphasis on the upper body. A bit masculine, but…” she paused, head tilted. “Not unattractive. You could make it your ‘thing’.”

“My ‘thing’?”

Fuchsia chewed on a nail, still studying Rosette with a scrutiny that was beginning to make her a little uncomfortable. “Every doe has a ‘thing’ that sets them apart, makes them unique, y’know? Their personal flair they put on their routines, or the thing that makes them stand out from the other cast members. We’ve all got the silver fur, that’s the overall theme here, but you know how Valerie has that tall thin supermodel thing going on? And Guin appeals to the bucks who like their does on the hefty side. Mine is soft, feminine, pink, the ribbons, that kind of thing. What if we played you up as my opposite?”

“You want me to pretend I’m a buck?”

“No, no, not like that. Just like...you’re the only Hrair doe, and you guys have this reputation for being tough and gritty, y’know? The no-nonsense bitch bunny from the city who’d sooner break your neck than get you off. That kind of thing.”

“And how am I supposed to convey that with a strip routine?”

Fuchsia grinned. “Watch me.”

The music she turned on was raunchy and the routine she busted out on the stage was even moreso, whipping her head in rhythm with her hips, gyrating to the harsh drumline of the song before dropping to her hands and knees, crawling across the stage aggressively towards Rosette then rocking back on her heels and rolling her hips right in Rosette’s face, hands behind her head.

Fuchsia ended on her stomach, giving Rosette a lascivious smile, reaching one hand out to poke her in the nose.

Never mind, _ now _ Rosette understood what bucks were on about.

“See what I mean?” Fuchsia chirped, popping back upright, crossing her legs under her. “You can make it aggressive and butch and the guys who are into it will eat it up, trust me.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m sure there’s some cool street fighting moves you can tweak and incorporate too.”

“Sure.”

“And maybe you can paint in the inside if your ears blue and shove a carrot up your ass and pretend to be the spring bunny.”

“Why not.” Rosette blinked. “Wait-”

Fuchsia laughed. “Put your dick back in your pants and get on the stage, sweetheart. When I’m done with you, you won’t have the energy to get horny.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


She wasn’t wrong. 

“Fuck me, I haven’t been this tired in ages,” Rosette panted, hands on her knees, struggling to suck in enough oxygen. Every muscle in her body screamed, ones she’d forgotten she had.

Fuchsia fanned her face with a paper fan she kept in her jacket, grinning. “Been a while since you got in a fight, then?”

“Street fights last seconds if you do ‘em right,” Rosette replied. “And I don’t do cage matches.”

“I thought you said you sparred with your mom all the time?”

“I said she put an emphasis on self-defense, not that we scrapped a lot. She’d destroy me anyway.”

“Like, because you hit her, or…”

Rosette kneaded a knot in her leg. “Nah, I mean she’d whup my ass in seconds. She’s got a reputation for it and she deserves it, from what I can tell.”

Fuchsia laughed, and it sounded like angels singing. “Life seems exciting in the Hrair.”

“Eh, if you think meetings and finance talk is exciting. The movies make it out to be a lot of fighting and assassination plots, but really that’s only happened like...once in my entire lifetime. Most of it’s just yelling loud enough to get some poor  _ hlessi  _ business owner to pay his protection money.”

“Well it doesn’t sound _ boring _ , anyway. Not like it is here.” She sighed. “Most exciting thing that happens in this place is when someone gets too drunk and tries to grope you. But that’s just being a doe, these days, so it’s not really anything new.”

Rosette realized she’d been clenching her jaw. “It seems safe here, though. There’s that.”

Fuchsia hummed. “Yeah, Maléficent takes care of us, that’s true. But I’ve still got a star in my ear, and someday I’ll probably end up in some predator’s trunk.”

“I thought that was just a cliché.”

“All urban legends are founded in at least a little truth,” Fuchsia said sadly. “I know more than one rabbit that’s gone missing after a night on the corner, even from nice places like this.” She smiled up at Rosette. “You’re lucky; I bet Hrair don’t get kidnapped too often.”

A heaviness was settling in Rosette’s stomach. “You’d think. Neither side of the coin is all sunshine and clover.”

Fuchsia nodded, quiet settling between them. “Sorry for ruining the mood,” she said softly. Then, like a lightswitch flipped on, she turned back to Rosette, bright and excited. “Hey, what is your other day off?”

“Uh, Wednesday, why?”

“I bet I could get mine changed to Wednesday if I swap with Guin…” she beamed. “If I teach you choreography, will you teach me how to fight?”

Rosette blinked. “Uh,”

Fuchsia grabbed Rosette’s arms, looking her in the eyes. “I really don’t want to end up a statistic in the newspaper, Rose. Come on, it’ll be good for both of us.”

Rosette really had no idea how to teach someone how to fight, but if it meant more one on one time with Fuchsia, she’d figure it out on the fly. “Yeah, yeah sure.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


It was overcast but warm that Wednesday, perfect weather for standing in the clearing of a public park and getting some exercise.

“Okay, so first things you wanna do it protect your face, and root your body.”

Fuchsia nodded, taking up a stance that mimicked one she’d probably seen in a martial arts movie: legs apart, knees bent, hands in fists in front of her face.

Rosette scowled. “Not quite.”

“What? This isn’t how you’re supposed to stand? This is how they stand in the movies.”

Casally, Rosette took a step forward and punched her in the solar plexus. The gray doe dropped to her knees, gasping.

“Better to keep your hands neutral so you can react to your opponent,” she said. “Most idiots are gonna go for the face, but if you’re up against someone who knows what they’re doing, you’re gonna get rocked if your hands are too far away.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Fuchsia wheezed.

Rosette helped her to her feet. “Three spots to go for: face, knees, ribcage. Hit ‘em in the jaw and the fight’s over. Good for dumbasses, not so good for anyone who’s spent time in a ring. If you don’t know what you’re up against, go for the legs.” She demonstrated a calf kick, pivoting slowly on her right heel, pressing the top of her foot to the Fuchsia’s leg. “Hurts like a bitch and you have a pretty good chance of knocking down pretty much anyone, even if they’re bigger n’ you are.”

She stepped back, taking a loose stance. “Try it.”

“Like, kick you?”

“Yeah, c’mon. Give it your best shot.”

Fuchsia kicked her, the top of her foot connecting with the back of Rosette’s thigh, above her knee.

“Lower.”

Fuchsia tried again, this time connecting solidly to the back of Rosette’s knee. She was ready for it, dropping her weight to that side and dipping down, then back up.

“Better. If you lock yer knees yer gonna go down, so stay loose an’ ya can roll with it. Try for the calf.”

Fuchsia kicked with gusto this time, the top of her foot slicing along the muscle of Rosette’s calf, eliciting a hiss from the black doe.

She felt the adrenaline surge through her veins. “There ya go.”

Fuchsia was grinning. “I did it, I did it! Now what comes after that?”

“Ya wanna make sure ya get ‘em to let ya kick ‘em, give ‘em one a’ these first,” Rosette said, lunging forward again, reaching out with her right arm as if she were going to punch Fuchsia in the face, but instead of connecting, she opened her hand in a flicking motion, like she were tossing sand into the other rabbit’s face.

Fuchsia flinched away from Rosette’s fingers, and Rosette caught her in the knee, knocking her off balance.

“Stagger ‘em, then yer perfectly lined up to knock ‘em in the face, or ya can go in for a choke.” Rosette studied her companion’s face. “You’ll prolly wanna learn the choke, if yer wantin’ this to be about self-defense.”

She stepped back. “Hit me.”

“Uh,”

Rosette grinned and waved her fingers in a “come at me” motion. “Hit me.”

Fuchsia swung, the loose right hook of someone who has no idea how to hit. It would do.

Rosette stepped slightly to the side, avoiding the fist, snatching Fuchsia’s outstretched arm and yanking her forward and to the side. In the same motion Rosette moved behind Fuchsia, wrapping her right arm around the other doe’s neck and locking her into a rear naked choke.

“Tap my arm when ya can’t breathe,” she said, and put on the pressure. The tap came almost instantly, and for the second time in less than an hour, Fuchsia was gasping for air.

“Similar deal,” Rosette said once Fuchsia had caught her breath again. “Grab the guy’s arm and throw ‘im off balance. Works nine times outta ten.”

Fuchsia was beaming again.

“Alright, do it to me now.”

Rosette made sure she got her to tap at least three times before she called it for the day.

“Now yer gettin’ it,” she said, her voice gritty from the tracheal abuse. “The best part about gettin’ this shit down is the first time ya drop some big motherfucker an’ all his friends bail ‘cause they realize y’ain’t just another helpless girl. Makes ya feel powerful.”

Fuchsia flopped down into the grass underneath a nearby tree, stretching forward to touch her toes. “Not quite the same full-body workout as dancing, but fun nonetheless.”

Rosette joined her in the shade, dragging her backpack over from its spot near a bench and setting it between her legs. “This is just lesson one. Once ya know enough to start getting into proper scraps, you’ll get a workout, trust me. I ain’t get arms like this from desk work, that’s for sure.”

There was a light in Fuchsia’s gray eyes. “I look forward to it.”

Rosette felt her heart-rate skyrocket.

She pushed it down, tearing her eyes away from Fuchsia’s and focusing instead on the backpack in front of her. She reached inside, producing a pair of sandwiches wrapped in paper towel, a ziplock bag of mixed vegetables, two bottles of water, and a bag of chips big enough to share. “I made lunch,” she said, setting the food in front of them. 

She suddenly felt embarrassed, that spending all the time that morning preparing such a meager spread was ridiculous. Who would be impressed with sandwiches and carrots in a park?

Fuchsia looked like Rosette had set the world’s finest steak before her. “Holy shit Rose, you didn’t have to do that.”

Rosette’s ears burned. “It was nothing, really. I just figured we’d be out here for a while, and we’d get hungry...I guess.”

Fuchsia’s smile could light up the darkest midnight. “It’s perfect. I haven’t had a picnic since I was a kit.”

Rosette decided to forego words and just shove the sandwich into her mouth.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Fuchsia walked her home that night, the two of them walking side by side down suburb sidewalks to the little house that Rosette was staying in.

“I don’t have anything else going on today,” Fuchsia had said, and together they explored the city, Fuchsia showing Rosette her favourite hangouts, restaurants, shopping areas. She’d repaid Rosette’s lunch offering with dinner at a noodle place that barely qualified as a hole in the wall, but had some of the best soup Rosette had ever tasted.

They stopped on the front step, Fuchsia standing aside so Rosette could punch the code into the keypad on the door.

“I actually live nearby,” she said. “Next neighbourhood over. Not so nice as this little place, but it’s okay enough. My roommates suck though, they keep me up a lot.” She chuckled. “Good thing I work nights then, huh.”

The deadbolt mechanism ground to life, and Rosette pushed the door open. The alarm system gave a cheery beep, announcing her return to the houseplants on the wall.

It wasn’t quite a tiny house, but not much bigger than a two-bedroom apartment. It had vinyl panel siding and real wooden shutters, and the inside looked straight out of the last decade - wood panel walls, white tile and shag carpet, sunflower yellow countertops in the kitchen. It made Rosette nostalgic, and that’s why she liked it.

Fuchsia leaned in the doorway. “Oh, it’s cute inside. And retro! Nice change from all the white and minimalism you usually see these days.”

A crazy idea popped into Rosette’s head. “You wanna come in?

It sounded idiotic the second the words left her mouth. “I mean, y’know. I’ve got weed. Or booze. Whatever. Could just watch TV or somethin’.” She was just saying shit now and it was getting embarrassing. “Or ya can go home, that’s fine too, I’m not tryna get weird on ya or nothin’-”

“You know your accent gets really thick when you’re wound up,” Fuchsia said, and Rosette did not fail to notice that she was leaning against the doorframe with her hip cocked at an angle that was too perfect to not have been practiced.

“What?”

“When we were sparring earlier you did it too, but by the time we sat down for lunch it was all gone. It’s cute.”

Rosette wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. “Thanks?”

Fuchsia glided past Rosette into the house, leaving Rosette with a buzzing in her ears that didn’t go away even after she’d retired to her bedroom and collapsed in her bed, pressing her palms into her eyes, feeling a thousand feet in the air.

  
  
  
  
  


Rosette woke up to the smell of coffee and the sun streaming through the slats in the blinds. In the kitchen someone was singing softly to themself in a pleasant alto, interrupted occasionally by the clink of dishes as they prepared breakfast. Probably Tilly, judging by the voice. She sang a lot when she thought nobody could hear.

Then Rosette remembered that she wasn’t at home, and she was living alone in this little rent house.

She jumped up out of bed and out the bedroom door, ready to beat the shit out of whoever was in her house, stopping dead in her tracks as Fuchsia turned to face her, a smile on her face and a bowl of strawberries in her hand.

“Oh, you’re up. There’s nothing in here to really make food with but I found a fruit stand down the street and got us at least something to eat for breakfast.”

Rosette dropped her shoulders. “Fuckin’ Frith, Fuchsia, be glad I ain’t got a gun. Scared the _ piss _ outta me.”

Fuchsia took a bite out of a strawberry, the juice painting her lips red. “You  _ don’t _ have a gun? I thought that was like, standard issue for gangsters.”

“You kidding? Guns are super hard to get ahold of, even for us. Pretty much the only rabbits packing heat are the Rah and the Owsla unless there’s shit goin’ down and they have to call in the military. Ain’t worth getting sent to prison ‘cause you were carrying.”

“I’m beginning to think the movies have been lying to me.”

“Movies lie about everything. It’s all sensationalized. Like how stripping is a good way to make extra cash but you only get rich off it if you’re exceptional, y’know? I was caught in the middle of a political thing as a kit but since then it’s been quiet. Just...normal life.”

Fuchsia laughed. “The normal life of being a  _ criminal _ , sure.”

Rosette gave her an exasperated face. “It’s a pretty normal life! I still went to school and had a curfew and had to do what my moms told me to do. Only difference is we live in a nice house bought with sex club money, instead of like, oil and gas or wind farm shit.”

“I bet you never got bullied.”

“No, I didn’t. They...one of my moms has a reputation, you could say. Nobody wanted to fuck with me and risk having her to deal with afterwards.”

Fuchsia leaned an elbow on the countertop, popping another strawberry in her mouth. “Sounds rough.”  
Rosette frowned. “It seems like it’d be great, but imagine you’re a kit who grew up without siblings and you just wanna make friends but your mom’s a Hrair Rah, and a pretty scary one at that. I spent a lot of time playing video games alone, basically.”

She saw Fuchsia’s face soften. “I didn’t think about that, that actually does sound like it sucks. I’m sorry.”

Rosetted shrugged. “I turned out okay, I guess. I’ll probably be some kind of top manager in a few years and then I won’t have time to have friends anyway.”

“I hope you remember us little folk when you’re sitting on your golden crime throne,” Fuchsia laughed. “What is your word for us? Hussies?”

“ _ Hlessil _ ,” Rosette said. “Rabbits without warrens.”

“ _ Hlessil _ ,” Fuchsia repeated, letting the syllables roll over her tongue. “I don’t know any Lapine. Grew up in the city so there was no reason to know anything but Hedgerow, but I always liked hearing it on those rural radio stations when we’d go on road trips.”

“My warren has a lot of rabbits from the country that grew up only speaking it, but these days most of us really just know the like, Hrair-specific words. Like Rah, Owsla,  _ hlessi _ ,  _ silfessi _ , that kind of thing.” Rosette grinned. “One of my moms paid for lessons with one of her secretaries though, so I can read it and speak at like...middle-grade level at least.”

Fuchsia leaned forward, her face suddenly serious. “I know this is like, the most cliché thing in the world, but I’ve always wanted to know how to write my name in Lapine.”

Rosette found a notepad and a pen near the phone on the kitchen counter, studying it for a moment, her mind chewing through the possible translations. Then, with the steadiest hand she could muster, she began to write the thin, scratchlike syllables of Lapine.

She handed the notepad to Fuchsia. “There. I think; names in Lapine are usually kind of poetic, and I didn’t think literally naming you ‘bright light red’ would really do you justice.”

Fuchsia stared awestruck at the paper. “So what  _ does _ it mean?”

Rosette’s ears felt hot. “It says, um, Thanléhlafalt; the colour of the sky at sunset. You know, how it turns all pink and magical and stuff.”

She seemed to radiate light, turning the paper to see the words from every angle. “What’s yours then?”

“Ethilaythi. It means ‘the first primrose’ or something like that. I kinda hated telling anyone as a kit ‘cause it sounds a bit like ‘ _ e thlayli _ ’ which is like, ‘it’s got a furry head’. Nobody said it to my face though, ‘cause y’know. Mom’s a Rah and stuff.”

As Rosette spoke, Fuchsia blinked, looking up at her suddenly. “Wait, your mom’s a Rah, and you’re from Lynfort?”

_ There it is _ , Rosette thought. “Yeah.”

“Is...is your mom Spookyrah from Crixa?”

Rosette sighed. “Yeah, one of ‘em. I live with Tillyrah from Riverside, though.”

“Ho-lee shit. No wonder Maléficent calls you Princess. I’ve heard some fucking  _ stories  _ about your mom, damn.”

“Unfortunately most of them are probably true.”

“You look nothing like either of them, though.”

“I’m adopted, obviously. My birth dam was like if Maléficent was all silver, all over. And skinnier.”  _ And crazy. _

Fuchsia studied her for a moment. “You look like her a little, you know, in the face. Wouldn’t it be funny if you were related? Us in the cast have a theory that she’s secretly an excommunicated member of the  Thaynlémba family. You know, the ones who invented smartphones?”

Rosette reached forward for a strawberry but found the bowl empty. “Yeah? How you figure?”

“The sign for our bar is in Lapine, but she’s not Hrair. Which means she’s either real backwoods country, or rich as  _ fuck _ . Pretty sure she’d have an accent or something if she was from the sticks, so that only leaves ‘hella rich’ as an option.”

“Maybe she just looked up how to write her name in Lapine on the internet,” Rosette suggested, laughing. “It’s not exactly difficult.”

“You should try to talk to her in Lapine sometime. See if she actually answers.”

“Ugh, no, I don’t feel like being more of a novelty than I already am to the other does. It’s like y’all ain’t never seen Hrair before.”

“This isn’t Lynfort, y’know, and us  _ hlessil  _ don’t hang out in the same places you guys do. You’re the first Hrair I’ve ever met and I’ve been here all my life.” She smiled. “I just know how to keep my mouth shut, unlike Valerie.”

The conversation lulled, and  Rosette got up to put the strawberry bowl in the dishwasher and pour herself a cup of coffee, now not quite as hot as it had been when she’d gotten up, but potent all the same. Behind her,  Fuchsia went back to admiring her name on the notepad. 

“ Thanléhlafalt,” she said softly. “I like it.”

“Someone else might translate it different, but I did my best.”

When Rosette turned around Fuchsia was giving her a genuine smile, her head tilted slightly, leaning on one elbow.

“Don’t think I didn’t catch that you called me magical,” she said.

Rosette suddenly couldn’t breathe. “I said the sunset was magical, you know like when there’s the clouds and the sun rays and it’s all purple and gold and gorgeous-”

“And that is what you were thinking about when you were deciding how to translate my name into your language.”

“I was just...thinking of something that same colour pink-”

“You thought about me and my name and the first image in your mind was a beautiful sunset.”

Rosette’s heart was threatening to jump out of her throat. “I...it’s not…” she stammered.

Fuchsia just kept smiling at her. “You know, primroses are my favourite flower.”

“Huh?”

She gently tore the sheet of paper with her name on it from the notepad and folded it into a small square. “Mmhm. Especially the red ones. I always looked forward to seeing them bloom. It really began to feel like spring was coming, then.”

Rosette just stared dumbly at her.

Fuchsia stood, tucking the paper into her pocket and picking up her phone from the counter. “I have some errands to run, but I’ll see you at work later, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Fuchsia leaned around the edge of the island and rubbed the side of her face on Rosette’s, lightning shooting down her spine at the feeling of Fuchsia’s fur against hers, the sound of her breath in her ear, their fingers intertwining loosely.

“Tomorrow I’ll bring stuff to make a real breakfast.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Alright girls, we’re comin’ up on Frith’s season festival weekend and we need all hands on deck,” Maléficent barked, hands crossed behind her back, military style. “Aly, I know Saturday is your day off, but we really need you here if at all possible. Valerie, Guin, I’m gonna leave it up to you two what routine you wanna do, but your pole stuff is always a hit so I want you at least on Friday and Saturday. When you’re not on stage I’m gonna need everyone to help on the floor, but you’re getting hour breaks, I’m not a monster.” She pointed a long finger at Rosette. “You, Princess. You’ve been working on a routine, right?”

Rosette blinked. “Uh, kind of yeah?”

“Cool. Iron the kinks out of it with Fuchsia and get it ready for Friday. Bucks eat up new girls so don’t put too much pressure on yourself; if you fuck up they’ll love you anyway.”

Maléficent turned to the kitchen staff then, leaving Rosette to stand in panicked silence. The other cast members had already broken away from the conference group, tittering around how to spice up their choreography or add just a little extra flair to their costumes.

Fuchsia elbowed her in the side, grinning wide. “You excited? Your big debut, and on festival weekend, ooh!”

Rosette grimaced. “Yeah, excited, I guess you could say that. More like panicking, but y’know.”

“Aw, c’mon, you’ll be great. I hear you’ve got a pretty good teacher.”

Rosette punched Fuchsia in the arm. “Eh, she’s okay, but she keeps feeding me strawberries and I think I’m getting fat.”

“Strawberries aren’t what’s getting you fat, Rose. It’s all the pancakes you eat on your mornings off.”

“Which I wouldn’t be eating if you weren’t putting them in front of me. You expect me to refuse food? You know I was an orphan, right?”

Fuchsia patted Rosette’s belly, spilling softly out of the underside of her glittering, tasseled top. “We’ll just have to work it off when we clean up your choreo, then.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


“There’s just...something missing...a….how do you say it?  _ Kasrahil _ ?” Fuchsia clicked her tongue, rubbing her chin with a knuckle.

Rosette sucked down half a bottle of water in one gulp, collapsing gracefully to the stage. “Trickery?”

Fuchsia waved her hand. “You know what I mean. It needs something special. Explosive. Wow factor.”

“My ass isn’t enough wow factor?”

It may have been the light filtering through her skin, but it looked like Fuchsia’s ears turned red. “It’s festival weekend, gotta make it special.”

“It ain’t special enough that this is my first appearance? Fuchsia I’m dyin’ over here. My legs are killing me and I’m so fuckin’ hungry I could eat an entire buffet of salad.”

Fuchsia sighed, standing up from her spot next to Rosette and stretching. “Fine, we can be done. Come on, I’ll buy you lunch, where do you wanna go?”

“If you’re payin’, I wanna go to that really nice place in town that’s like, cat food but not actually fish.”

Fuchsia grimaced. “Or we could go to the food truck down the road and get stuffed buns and save the fancy shit for date night?”

“We have a date night?”

“We do now. Wednesday after fight club? Would give us enough time to get reservations to your fancy cat food joint, and we’ll be super hungry..” Fuchsia was giving her that same coy smile, phone in her hand, left hip cocked.

Rosette stopped halfway through pulling on her hoodie, one arm in, one arm out. “You…you’re serious aren’t you?”

Fuchsia just stared at her. “Were you not?”  
“I mean, it’d be fun, but I don’t want you to have to spend money on-”

Fuchsia stepped forward, putting a hand over Rosette’s mouth. “Shut up and let me take you out.”

Rosette’s words were muffled around her hand. “You know that’s a huge faux pas right? A Hrair rabbit should never let a  _ hlessi _ pay for their food, it’s dishonourable.”

“Sounds like some last-century bullshit to me. Your Spooky mom teach you that?”

“If there’s anything the movies get right about us, it’s that old warrens are steeped in tradition,” Rosette said, pushing open the bar’s back door for Fuchsia to step through. “We’re supposed to be like, powerful and important and have stuffed pockets, even if were just low-level mooks. We let a civilian do anything like buy dinner or be the primary income for the family and we might as well cut our ears off ourselves.”

“The ear thing is real too? You said movies got almost everything wrong, and yet here you are confirming that you do everything in every Hrair movie except, I guess, get kidnapped on a daily basis.” Fuchsia waved her hands, exasperated. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve only ever known one rabbit that has his ear cut off.”

“Yeah? What was he, an underling who fucked up super bad? A disgraced manager? A traitor who sold out the Rah to a rival warren?”

Rosette’s voice was tight. “My dad. And he got it taken off for trying to save me from being assassinated by his Rah.”

“But I thought you said you were-” The realization hit Fuchsia then, the words fading into the street noise around them. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rosette shrugged, but her lips were drawn. “I was six. I don’t really remember it.”

“Sometimes I forget that when you talk about this stuff it’s not a movie or a video game, it’s your actual life and the rabbits you talk about are real living creatures.”

Rosette stepped into the line at the food truck before Fuchsia, ensuring that she would be the one paying for lunch. “At least you’re not trying to make excuse like almost everyone else does when they put their foot in their mouth like that. If it makes you feel better, my life is way wackier than normal. I’m pretty sure I’ve played a video game with a plot almost identical to the whole oreal.”

Fuchsia put a hand on her arm. “Still, I should have known better.”

Rosette opened her mouth to respond, but then they were next in line, and she was thankful for the distraction granted to her by the plump mole cook with flour-covered hands. They each ordered their favourites, and Fuchsia twisted Rosette’s arm behind her back when she reached for her wallet, slapping her own money on the countertop and flashing the cook a wide smile.

  
  
  
  
  


Fuchsia brought the alcohol that night, the two of them digging around in their respective fridges to dredge up enough fruit juice to mix it with. Over the last month it’d just become their weekly routine to spend Monday evening catching up on all the TV shows they’d missed working nights the rest of the week. They sat curled up on Rosette’s couch, a blanket draped over their laps, feet on the cushions. They’d already caught up on the two girly fashion reality shows, and now it was time for the most anticipated hour of the night: the crime drama.

“This guy’s trigger discipline is atrocious,” Rosette mumbled around her screwdriver. “He’s gonna blow his goddamn foot off.”

On the screen, the black and tan dog was bleeding from enough places that his fur was glossy, the semi-automatic pistol in his hands approximately the length of his face. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, his knuckles tight, both index fingers on the trigger as he tried to explain the horrible circumstances he’s found himself in to his best friend: a goat with long, flopped ears.

“Shit, I’ve never seen a real gun in my life and I know that’s a bad idea,” Fuchsia said. She was leaning against Rosette’s shoulder, her knees pulled up to her chin.

On-screen, the goat, tears filling his sky-blue eyes, apologized profusely before sinking a knife into the ribs of his friend, hands gently slipping the gun out of the dog’s hand.

From the couch, the two does gasped. 

“They’re following me to get to you,” the goat said, his voice racked by sobs. “You know what happens when they get you, man. I can’t let that happen to you, I love you too much.” 

The dog slumped forward, his head on the goat’s shoulder, gasping. The goat pressed the muzzle of the gun to the dog’s head, squeezing his eyes shut. “At least this way I can make sure you don’t suffer.”

The screen cut to black, the credits playing in oppressive silence.

They gave themselves until the DVR asked them if they wanted to delete the recording to finish reeling.

Beside Rosette, Fuchsia had a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, wet tracks streaming down her face. “Oh my gods I can’t believe they’re making me wait an entire week to know the conclusion of that scene. I’m not going to be able to sleep anymore. Every time I close my eyes all I’m going to see is Floki’s devastated face.”

“I’m more concerned about the fact that he’s ‘boutta shoot himself in the arm through Taz’s skull,” Rosette said, trying to mask the shake in her voice. “Like I know Taz ain’t gonna die, ‘cause he’s the protagonist, but I almost wish they’d kill him off just so I could laugh at Floki nearly killing himself, too.”

“I can’t believe you can make jokes at a time like this.”

Rosette sniffed loudly. “Defense mechanism. Making jokes about bad shit keeps me from goin’ crazy. But for real, he’s gonna shoot his arm off if he doesn’t move that gum.”

Fuchsia just shook her head. “I’m just. I can’t believe they did that.”

Rosette deleted the DVR recording, and the TV began to play the live broadcast of a trashy reality show. They watched it in silence, not really absorbing any of the content, still thinking about the previous program.

The entire day, Rosette had been on edge. There was a vague tightness in her chest, a tingling in her fingers. She found herself listening more intently to the conversations of those around her, jumpier than usual. Not even the alcohol was taking the edge off of it, and unfortunately she knew there was only one way to get it out.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly. “About this morning. About my dad.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Rose. I shouldn’t have made a joke about it.”

Rosette could feel it bubbling up. “No, it’s been bugging me and my therapist says I’m supposed to talk about shit so it doesn’t fuck me up later.”

“You have a therapist?”

“My father was assassinated by his warren because he didn’t surrender me to the street gang hired by my politician mother to kill me in order to sever her ties to the Hrair, and that’s not actually the most fucked up thing I’ve experienced in my life.”

“Shit, Rose, for real-”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not like, mad at you for earlier, I promise. It’s just, if we’re gonna be doing...this…” She waved her hand between them. “I want to actually be able to talk to you about shit. ‘Cause trust me, it’s gonna come up again, and it’s not always gonna be ‘cause you were jokin’ about movie stereotypes.”

Fuchsia sat back against the couch cushions, her drink abandoned on the coffee table. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”

There was only so much laughing one can do to take the edge off of watching their siblings being bled out one by one onto the kitchen floor.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The TV was playing an infomercial when Rosette finished, the side of her thumb raw from nervously picking at it as she told her her story. Fuchsia was still sitting with her back in the corner, silently listening with a look somewhere between empathy and fear on her face.

It was quiet for a moment before Fuchsia spoke again. “Why on earth would you want to stay in a life like that?”

“The only reason I ain’t been finished off by The Hand is ‘cause they know Spooky will throw the entire warren at them if they so much as look at me funny. But that protection only lasts until I’m legal, unless I give over my ear.”

“No one, especially not a kit, should ever be having to make that decision. I can’t even imagine, Rose.”

Rosette grinned. “It ain’t all benevolent, don’t worry. One mom is the Rah of the biggest warren in the city, and the other owns the underground rabbit nightlife. I’m set up to be rich as all goddamn fuck just ‘cause of who’s doorstep my dad happened to dump me on. Havin’ ink in my ear gives me more respect than I ever would have as the daughter of a politician. It feels good to be part of somethin’ y’know?”

“Even if you know it’ll kill you one day?”

Rosette slapped her bicep. “I’d like to see ‘em fuckin’ try. These arms ain’t just for makin’ the girls swoon y’know.”

Fuchsia rolled her eyes and finally smiled. “I can’t say anything, I guess, I’m an exotic dancer in a hookah bar slash strip club and actually enjoy it.” She reached over to the coffee table and picked up her drink, now lukewarm. “To each their own.”

The two of them looked back at the TV, letting the figures on the screen struggling to properly use plastic wrap drain the tension from the room.

“Thank you for telling me,” Fuchsia said quietly. “I know it took a lot.”  
“Just wanted you to know what you were gettin’ into.”  
“And now I do.”

The antique wall clock chimed a quarter to one then, and Fuchsia sighed as she knocked the remaining liquid back in one go. “We should get some sleep. Got another long day of busting your ass on the dance floor tomorrow.”

“I guess,” Rosette sighed, dragging herself off of the couch, stretching herself up onto her tiptoes, fingers not quite brushing the ceiling. “You good with that blanket or you want me to get you another one?”

“I’m good,” Fuchsia said, following Rosette across the living room to flip off the TV. The air seemed to hum with the sudden relative silence.

Greenish light from the street lights filtered through the wooden slat blinds, painting thick stripes across Fuchsia’s fur as she moved through the darkness towards Rosette, footsteps quiet on the vinyl wood floor. She draped her arms over Rosette’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. “I don’t wanna sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Uh,” Rosette said, intelligently.

Fuchsia was pushing her gently towards the bedroom door, eyelids heavy. Her voice was low and laced in honey. “It’s warmer under the covers with you.”

Rosette let herself be guided by Fuchsia, backing into the bedroom until her knees hit the edge of the bed and they fell onto it together. Fuchsia was the taller of the two, her body perfectly covering Rosette, pressing her into the mattress, arms on either side of Rosette’s face.

Her fur was thick, Rosette realized, and longer than it looked, staying where she left it when she ran her hands up Fuchsia’s back, underneath her shirt. Her fingers curled around the hem, but before she could pull it off, Fuchsia sat up on her knees, a lascivious smile on her face.

She’d seen her almost completely naked nearly every night for the last three weeks, but watching her writhe on a stage from the bar paled in comparison to the personal show she was getting now. The dim light from the open bedroom door behind her seemed to cast a halo around her as she moved, slow and deliberate. The shorts came off first, Fuchsia making what would normally be an awkward manoeuvre into a showcase of the length and shape of her legs before settling her weight back onto Rosette’s lap, eliciting a grunt as she ground her hips downward.

Her top quickly followed, slowly drawing up and over her head, drawing it out as part of the tease. She hooked Rosette behind the head with it, pulling her up and forward, pressing their mouths together. “You’re allowed to touch, you know.”

Rosette obliged, wrapping her arms around Fuchsia’s neck and pressing themselves together. Fuchsia’s fingers searched blindly for the hem of Rosette’s shirt behind her back, tugging with a surprising urgency. She allowed it, letting Fuchsia undress her with confident hands, not quite confident enough to look her in the eye, choosing instead to focus on the rest of her. 

She started on Fuchsia’s thighs, feeling the strong muscle beneath her fingers, her hands leaving patterns in her fur where it remained upright, glowing in the lamplight. Her hips were full, her waist a soft inward sweep. Fuchsia lifted her arms above her head to allow Rosette to slide her hands up her ribcage, feelings the muscle in her back, her shoulders. Rosette’s hands hesitated for a moment before sinking into Fuchsia’s dewlap, a breath she didn’t know she was holding escaping shakily from her lungs. 

“You do this like a virgin, you know,” Fuchsia teased, scrunching her shoulders to make her dewlap bunch up around her chin. “Are you?”

“Couple bucks,” Rosette mumbled. “Not a doe.”  
Fuchsia smiled, wrapping her arms around Rosette’s shoulders and pushing her back into the mattress. “It’s not that different,” she said. “‘Cept you’re less likely to get headbutted in the face.”

It was getting difficult to think of replies now, with Fuchsia’s hand trailing down Rosette’s hip. “That’d be nice.”

The smile in her voice was audible as she found what she was looking for, and Rosette’s breath hitched oh so satisfyingly. “Lemme show you how a Stardust girl does it.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


They slept in late the next morning, limbs intertwined together, tangled in the duvet. Too late for breakfast, they stayed in bed, basking in the presence of one another, still heavy wth sleep.

Fuchsia reached a hand out, trailing up the side of Rosette’s face, stopping short at the stud in her ear. “Is it weird to ask about your tattoo?” she asked, hesitantly touching her finger to the inked skin. “What it means, I guess. Do you get to pick it?”  
Rosette closed her eyes, letting Fuchsia trace the lines with her finger. “The artist usually comes up with the design, but you get to approve the final design.” She sensed the next question before Fuchsia had a chance to ask. “The warrens usually use the same artist for everyone, so they usually know everyone personally. He pretty much had mine all figured out before I even told him I was inducted.”

“I guess it’s got something to do with the whole assassination thing, then.”

“My dad’s tattoo was a cat’s hand holding a thistle, so it’s supposed to be an homage to him. Just with a rose, and the hand arranged like the tattoos of the gang that tried to kill me.”

“Seems kind of morbid.”

“It’s common in the Hrair to have your tattoos reflect some important event in your life, especially if it was kinda traumatic.” Rosette said, shrugging. “Kind of like owning it, I guess. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, or whatever.”

“That’s deep.”

“The Hrair is all about symbolism.”

Fuchsia’s finger moved to Rosette’s right ear, touching to the small tattoo set deep inside the lobe. A small, simple heart - recently touched up, the crisp black line surrounded by a faint halo of faded ink. “What’s this one mean, then?”

“My dad did that one, right before he died. It’s the mark of his favourite prostitute, apparently to help me find her if Tilly didn’t take me in.” She touched the spot in her ear, feeling the faint rise of the ink under her skin. “Now it’s just something to remember him by.”

Fuchsia threaded their fingers together, gray eyes meeting Rosette’s. She just looked at her for a moment, saying nothing. 

This close to her in the warm golden light, Rosette could see the extent of the silver in Fuchsia’s face, barely noticeable white hairs trimming her ears like evening starlight.

“I like this part,” Fuchsia said softly, brushing Rosette’s cheek with her free hand. “The gold right here. In the sun it makes you glow.”

Rosette smiled. “And I was just thinking that all your silver looked like stars.”

“I never really noticed that you had both silver and gold in your fur. It’s subtle. Pretty.”

“Apparently it’s pretty unique,” Rosette hummed. “S’what everyone tells me anyway.”

Dust motes danced in the sunbeams behind Fuchsia’s head, her breath sending then spinning. “I’ve never seen a rabbit like you, Rose.”

“There’s thousands like me out there somewhere.”

“But those thousands aren’t here right now.”

Fuchsia kissed her soft and slow, and they lost themselves in one another for a moment, the late morning sun warming their fur. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Fuchsia walked her home that night after work but didn’t stay; she needed to feed her roommate’s fish while she was out of town, and Rosette realized too late what the feeling that clenched her heart must be.

They stood there in the soft yellow porch light with their arms around each others’ waists, the drone of the summer crickets in the grass rising and falling with the breeze until finally they tore away from one another, and Rosette watched Fuchsia walk off into the darkness between the street lights and out of sight around the corner.

She stood on the porch a heartbeat longer, listening to a moth beat itself to death on the bulb above her before she spoke.

“You’re doing a super shit job of sneakin’ up on me.”

To her left, the shadow that had been leaning against the outside of the house stepped into the light with a huff. A rabbit buck, his fur patched in gray and white, a hoodie pulled over his ears.

“I wasn’t trying to hide,” he said, and Rosette didn’t buy it. “Just waiting for your girlfriend to leave so we could talk.”  
“So talk. And fast, _hlessi_ , I got shit to do.”

“Man you sure talk big for a kit with fresh ink,” he said, leaning forward, hands in his pockets. “ _ Hlessi, _ shit. Like you ain’t one step up from  _ hlessi  _ yourself.”

“Ya got somethin’ to say or ya jus’ been hangin’ out behind my house ‘cause yer tryna kill me?” Rosette growled, fingers flexing at her sides.

The buck held his hands up. “Calm down, calm down, let’s not wake up the neighbours. I’m not here to kill you, though,” he laughed, “I’d probably get a hell of a raise if I did. Fortunately for you I care a little more about my life than money right now.”

Rosette ground her teeth. “Spit it out.”

“Right. You need to start watching your back, Hrair Princess. You’ve caught the attention of someone whose patronage you’re not gonna enjoy near as much as everyone else’s, and they know you’re here alone.”

“I am the daughter of Spookyrah of Narn-Hain and Tillyrah of Lynfort. If anyone from Tamina touches me-”

The buck laughed, and it grated on her ears like sandpaper. “Not Tamina, babe; the Hrair don’t rule Ash Hill anymore, not for years.” 

He pulled down his hood, and Rosette’s blood ran cold in her veins. In his ear, almost obscured by how deep within the lobe it was, was a black tattoo of circles and lines, like the curled-up claws of a rabbit.

“I’m talking about the Hand of Inlé. And the Hand of Inlé could care less how many guns your mama has in her basement anymore. The guy in charge has been plotting a hit on your warrens ever since he came to power like two years ago, and now you’ve come and walked right up to his doorstep, wrapped up with a glittery stripper bow.”

“Why are you telling me if he’s your boss, then?”

“I told you, ‘cause I like staying alive more than I like cashing in the check I’m supposed to get for killing you. If I help you, maybe your crazy time bomb of a step-mom won’t gut me on sight like she does everyone else. I give you information on where the Hand is and how to avoid them, and maybe I get to live long enough to see my first kits born. Sound like a deal?”

Rosette studied him with narrowed eyes. “How can I trust you?”

“Friday night you’ve got some kind of big show going on right? For the festival? Front row, one seat from the middle in the front of the stage, you’ve got a VIP seat. The buck sitting there is gonna have his tattoo painted over, but he’s gonna have fur the colour of dead grass with black on his extremities like he’s got colourpoints. If he likes your show he’ll tip you good, but he’ll leave after you’re done. His name’s Eli, and he’s one of the dozen or so rabbits they’ve got keeping an eye on you.”

“And?”  
“And the fact that I’ve told you who he is and what he looks like means you can keep an eye out for him. If I’m lying, he won’t be there. If he is, I’m telling the truth, and maybe you’ll trust me. The Hand won’t make a move on you sooner than next week, so you have time to get ready. Call your mom or whatever. Just don’t talk inside, the house is super bugged.”

Rosette blinked. “What? How do you know?”

“Who do you think owns this place? You think Harley just knew you were in town ‘cause someone recognized you? Hell no, the second a reservation for Rosette Blackpaw popped up every alarm in the office started going off. If you’re gonna skulk around in the town run by rabbits you tried to kill you as a kit, you really shouldn’t be using your _real ass name_. I thought they taught y’all Hrair rabbits that kinda shit?”  
“It’s been almost fifteen years,” Rosette hissed. “We didn’t figure anyone still had it out for me.”

“Well, someone does. Stick with me though and you might be able to stay a step ahead of them, though.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m Percy Blue.”

She didn’t take it.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> follow my further exploits on twitter @katouatche and tumblr @katouatche!


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